


Clenched Fists

by MagnetoTheMagnificent



Series: Flufftober 2020 [12]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is just enough of a bastard to be worth liking, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), London, Moving In Together, Other, Period-Typical Homophobia, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:35:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26972995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnetoTheMagnificent/pseuds/MagnetoTheMagnificent
Summary: It's moving day, and Aziraphale and Crowley spend one last day as London residents. They are reminded of why they are moving in the first place.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Flufftober 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952344
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	Clenched Fists

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: someone uses the homphobic f-word, but it's dealt with.

Aziraphale was in the middle of helping Crowley move his plants into the Bentley. After lunch they would finally be moving out of the city, but first they had to stop at Crowley's flat for his beloved ferns and bonsai and other plants Aziraphale couldn't name. 

"All done!" Crowley declared happily as he closed the car door. 

Aziraphale planted a kiss on his cheek and pulled him close. He liked seeing his old friend happy.

"Faggot," a man hissed, walking past them on the pavement. 

Crowley's wide grin fell, and he pulled away. 

"Let's go to lunch," he said quietly, climbing into the driver's seat.

Aziraphale clenched his fists angrily, and frowned. It was rare that Crowley allowed himself to be happy, especially in public, and that bigot human had ruined it. 

He took a deep breath. He wasn't going to make a scene, that insignificant twat wasn't worth it. 

As he climbed into his seat, he thought, ' _well, he certainly was worth discovering that all his good suits had been nibbled by moths, the day before an important interview_.' 

Lunch was decent enough. There was a group of women at the table next to them, and one of them engaged Aziraphale in conversation. 

Crowley was in the lavatory, but not long enough for Aziraphale to worry. 

"Are you here alone?" one of the women asked. 

Aziraphale smiled politely at her. 

"Oh no, my friend will be here in a moment," he replied, hoping that would be the end of it. 

He looked down at his book, signaling that he was not one for conversation. 

"That's a heavy book you're reading," the woman remarked. 

Aziraphale looked up in annoyance. 

"Yes, it's the Divine Comedy," he said coolly. 

"Are you religious?" she asked intrusively.

"In a sense," Aziraphale murmured distractedly. 

"People these days just don't think about religion. I reckon if more people turned to God, we wouldn't have all the problems we have now. So many godless youths," the stranger commented self-righteously. 

Aziraphale found his fists clenching again. 

"Quite," he clipped. 

The woman was about to say yet another thoughtless and needless commentary when Crowley returned from the lavatory.

"Hey, angel," he said softly.

Aziraphale smiled widely, and pulled him down. He gave him a firm kiss, all the while glaring at the woman. 

The woman paled in horror, and turned back to her own table. 

Crowley looked a little dazed, but understood immediately when he saw Aziraphale flash that triumphant smirk of his. 

They arrived at the cottage a few hours later. Aziraphale couldn't help but sigh and breathe in the clean air. 

"It's good to be out of the city, isn't it?" Crowley remarked, taking his hand. 

His fist, which was still clenched, relaxed as he felt his friend's familiar cold palm. 

Aziraphale nodded. 

"It's quiet," he mused. 

"Less people," Crowley agreed. 

"They're not all bad, mind you, but sometimes one needs a bit of distance." 

"You're telling me," the demon muttered. 

Aziraphale pushed open the cottage door.

"Here's to the rest of our lives," he smiled, clenching his fist around Crowley's hand.


End file.
